


Dribs and Drabs

by evanelric



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-12
Updated: 2012-12-12
Packaged: 2017-11-20 23:02:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evanelric/pseuds/evanelric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fills for prompts that don't merit actual full-length fics. Little to no connection between them. Always and never complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Camera Lucida

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kayevelyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayevelyn/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [kmeme](http://teenwolfkink.livejournal.com/5710.html?thread=4186190#t4186190) fill!
> 
> _Matt is obsessed with Stiles instead of Allison_

Matt knows the exact placement of every mark on Stiles’ face. He knows how much the moles on his jaw shift when he talks, when he smiles, when his mouth falls open slightly as he stares vacantly at nothing. He knows how the pale tone of Stiles’ skin gives way to the soft pink of his lip, which almost always opens to the shadowed darker pink of his mouth, but rarely to the white of Stiles’ teeth. He knows that, for all that Stiles is pretty constantly benched, he has well-developed arms, and could draw out the path of the veins that trace up from Stiles’s hands across his arms.

Matt knows each of Stiles’ unconscious tics, how his fingers beat out a tattoo on his thighs, the way he rolls his pencils back and forth over his notebook (unless he’s concentrating on a test, when he rocks the pencil between two fingers until he furiously fills in the scantron bubble). He could replicate exactly the motion Stiles uses to hike his backpack higher on one shoulder after he’s thrown his arms around to demonstrate a point, could set a clock by the frequency at which Stiles bounces his knee when his attention is wandering.

Matt knows that Stiles is pretty good with locker room etiquette, but he sees the shudders when Stiles pulls his shirt off a certain way, when people brush too close, or drag a hand over his chest. He knows the way Stiles sits in his desk chair, how he starts with both feet on the floor and gradually contorts himself to pull one leg up on the seat, then drape it over the arm. How the angle of Stiles’ back gives away whether he’s studying, or raiding, how Stiles stretches backwards, bowing his spine over the backrest before he shimmies his pants down his thighs.

Matt knows how Stiles runs his hands back up his legs as he finishes kicking his pants off, the way he slides a hand under his shirt, how the fabric moves as Stiles brushes a nipple. The way he shivers and pulls the shirt all the way off. How stark his moles stand out as his cheeks flush red, how every move of his hand drives the flush further and further, down Stiles’ neck to where he’s rolling a nipple between his fingers. He knows how Stiles’ mouth falls open, how he runs a tongue along his lip before catching it in his teeth, worrying it the way his hands are tugging on his nipples.

Matt knows the way Stiles clenches his eyes shut and bows his head before he lets one hand fall to his cock, knows how it flushes and curves a bit to the right, knows how Stiles strokes it just once before he pushes his ass forward on the seat and leans back so he can touch himself farther back. How Stiles twists his nipple just so when he does this and his mouth falls open again. How he moves his hand to the other nipple and does it again, back arching obscenely, before he brings his other hand back up to work his cock, how it only takes Stiles a few strokes up and down, and a thumb skimming just so, under the head and over, with a hard downward pull and a sharp pinch to his nipple with the other hand to have Stiles panting harshly, biting his lip as he paints his stomach.

Matt knows that Stiles doesn’t even need to touch his cock to come, that he’s done it just from playing with his nipples. Knows that if Stiles has a lot of free time on his hands he prefers that, to lay stretched out on his bed and run his hands over his chest, trailing his fingers through the scattering of hair there, how Stiles will touch everywhere else, skimming next to his nipples but not quite touching until he’s flushed and hard. How he’ll tug and roll his nipples, the way he’ll lick his fingertips and do it all again, the way he’ll skim the palms of his hands over them until his heels are digging into the comforter and his hips are twitching into the air. He knows the way Stiles’ hands tremble slightly before he executes the particular twisting pinching tug that has him coming all over himself.

Matt knows the glassy look in Stiles’ brown eyes as he comes down, the way awareness seeps back in until Stiles looks right at the camera and drags his fingers through the come on his stomach, the way his expression shifts into something predatory as he licks his fingers clean.

There are a lot of things Matt knows.


	2. Pennyroyal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter makes a decision that isn't all that difficult after all. POTENTIALLY TRIGGERY, SEE ENDNOTES.

Peter ghosts through life for the next few days. Oh, he’s snarky and charming and clever, but the spark is gone from his eyes. He knows his brother and sister-in-law have noticed, but he also knows that they won’t say anything as long as he can keep up the pretense. His mother used to pick at him when he had such strops, when his wit would become cutting and his smile just as sharp until she told him to fix it or get over it, which is when he would usually end up with his head on her shoulder, playing with his mother’s fingers as he detailed whatever (usually inconsequential, upon examination) problem was plaguing him. But his mother is dead, and his brother is the alpha now, and all Peter has for consolation is a love-hate relationship with his friend-with-benefits who also happens to be a Hunter.

So Peter goes through the motions, trying to assimilate the fact that whatever it was he’d been dosed with in the last major skirmish with a group of hunters had triggered a heat. Not intense enough to be noticeable as more than just the normal adrenaline-fueled lust he felt around Chris, but strong enough for him to conceive. He knows that there’s no way that he and Chris will ever be anything like a happy family, or even just able to have a functional relationship. He has no desire for children, or for the strain on his body it would take to carry a child to term. He knows that there is a good chance his family would force him out of the territory if they knew a Hunter had sired a child on him, and he also knows that Chris would feel obligated to make sure they knew, that he would feel honor-bound to provide for the child.

Peter takes all of these facts, and turns them over and over in his mind, and keeps arriving at the same conclusion. He takes a few days to himself, which isn’t unusual. His family is used to his periodic absences from sneaking off to meet Chris, not that they know that’s what he’s doing, and Peter and Chris can go weeks without seeing each other. So Peter goes to a cabin he found abandoned up in Oregon, and he brews up a tea from a particular strain of wolfsbane laced with pennyroyal.

When he returns home the twinkle has returned to his eye, his family dismisses the entire incident as another of his fits of pique, and Chris never knows anything had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for mpreg and abortion. 
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> More specifically, Peter unexpectedly conceives a child by Chris and decides on his own not to carry the child.


End file.
